


The Trap

by QuincyConnally



Category: Armello (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 12:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13031109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuincyConnally/pseuds/QuincyConnally
Summary: Mercurio gets revenge.





	The Trap

Blueberry Town. This sleepy hamlet had been founded as an agrarian settlement, but its quaint though fitting name did little to hide the open secret of its present role as a hub and an outpost for thieves and informants. It was the first settlement encountered when setting out from the Rat Clan’s grounds in the direction of the palace, and therefore it made the most sense as a converging point for our spy networks, all hidden in the plain sight of taverns and clubs.

I entered into the smoke-filled dining room of one of the town’s fine watering holes, cramped as it was even by rat standards. I had told the tender, a martin, that when next I returned to this spot I would be King of Armello, and as I had made several unplanned returns since then, it was always to the steady beat of his predictable teasing. This time I shot him a glance which told him I was in no mood, and so he pivoted to ask if I would be taking up my usual spot. I said I would, with my usual brandy, the whole bottle if you will.

I retreated to the back of the room, where a single booth set off from the rest by a portion of the wall offered a measure of privacy. The server brought me my bottle as well as a small glass, and also set upon the table a brown-wrapped package. I poured a glass and enjoyed it before I turned my attention to work.

The package was the collected works of the spies in my service across Armello. Thane’s attempts to rescue a miner trapped by an avalanche at Blackrock Peaks met with disaster, and he was forced to abandon the endeavor. In desperation he stormed the palace walls, hoping to face the King in battle and take the throne for the Wolf Clan by force, but he was confounded by the Mother’s Maze and ejected. Sana’s pursuit of her final Spirit Stone had been slowed as she endured multiple unlucky encounters with Banes. And with the swirling clouds about the palace now visible from just outside where I sat, the King wasn’t expected to live another night, two at the most. If it was Rot that killed the King, we all knew who would be chosen to rule as his successor. The one who uncovered the Royal Banner and the Royal Shield from their hidden resting places, both thought lost for a generation. The one who saved the village of Esterdale from an attacking Bane, then funded the construction of palisades from her own family’s coffers. And the one who had discovered the prison of Rot at Python’s Slough and freed its inmates, though few seemed to mention what became of that frog fellow, the one she had claimed to be her protégé.

Amber of the Rabbit Clan. Recalling her name made bile rise in my throat. The previous night I made my own attempt to infiltrate the palace. Unlike Thane I had little hope to confront the King directly, but I had my dagger and a packet of information on the Tricking Paths dug from Rat Clan archives; I would figure _something_ out. I was just at the walls of the palace scoping for the best way in when who should strike from the cover of the Arcdale Woods but Amber of the Rabbit Clan, drawing her sword from the hilt of her parasol. I parried her blows with my dagger and returned them with my rapier, but the element of surprise made it difficult to gain footing against her. I had just managed to begin driving her back when my eyes were drawn to a glint of light from her left hip. I had not even enough time to register the object in her paw before there was a bright flash, a deafening bang, and a searing pain in my lower abdomen. The first bullet pierced the links of the chain mail under my shirt and struck my liver, and before I could react, she drew her second pistol from her right hip and fired into my stomach. None of my sources indicated that Amber had acquired a set of these Rabbit-designed weapons banned by the King. Having expended both bullets, she holstered the pistols and vanished. I fell to all fours and clasped the fresh holes in my belly.

There was no possibility to infiltrate the palace with these injuries. Even medical attention from the nearest settlement would prove sufficient only to hold me together long enough to return to the Clan grounds for proper healing. I grit my teeth, lifted my blood-soaked shirt and chain mail and unwrapped a length of bandage. Once I had staunched the bleeding as much as I could, I set off out of that clearing back towards my home.

At the Rat Clan capital I was able to get surgical and magical mending. I was also reminded by my sponsors, the nobles who had chosen to back me, that they had invested significant resources in _my_ bid for the throne and that they would not be pleased if those investments brought no return. So I set out again, but now I seemed at a loss. I had little prospects of reaching the palace in time to place a second assault. I was about ready to throw all my papers in frustration when the server again approached and told me that the management had arranged a room. In this pub I could be fairly sure what that meant. I finished my glass, gathered up the papers, took the bottle and arose.

Two rat ladies, Emily and her sister Addison, waited for me in the bedroom. I’d had many lovely women across Armello, but Emily and Addison of Blueberry Town were among my favorites. Not only were they both frightfully attractive, they were willing, even eager, to indulge my more dangerous fantasies. I started with Emily, and once I had removed my vest and joined her in bed, I began undoing her corset while she unbuttoned my shirt. Then I turned her onto her stomach. The rope had been provided for us on the bedside table, two pieces which I used to tie Emily’s front paws to the bedposts.

Being a rat, Emily was talented when it came to the performing arts. She cried and screamed with such conviction as I entered her so as to convince any observer she was in distress. I thrust with increasing speed until I was sore and panting, but though I felt myself getting close, I was not able to cross the threshold into blissful climax. I slowed to a stop, pulled out, and caught my breath. She looked back at me with a bit of confusion, but in a moment I gripped my limpening organ and stroked it back to its full length for another go.

Several times we went around like this, and at the end of a half-hour, when I still hadn’t finished, the two began to ask if there was something the matter. I untied the ropes and angrily shooed them both out, shouting behind them that I was too busy for this anyway, and besides which I had a bit too much to drink, was all. Emily hastily reapplied her top on her way out. I shut the door and sat down at the desk, where I reclined and rested my head on the chair back, then took a sip from the bottle and spread out the papers again. When I got to the pages detailing Amber’s most recent known exploits, I stopped and examined them more closely. After her encounter with me, she had taken a detour to the west toward Bloodcarin Depths, but appeared to have found little there besides skeletons with pocket coin. That would make her all the more tempted to head for Mount Greymane, where it was said that some unknown treasure rested with the remains of the Fleetfood Dynasty. Since any adventurer would wish to avoid wading through the Bogmire if they had a say in it, she was likely to choose to cut through Quickborn Valley. The fortune seemed almost miraculous. Rabbits were diurnal—she would be catching what sleep she could at this moment. If I started now, I could get there first …

I threw on my shirt and vest and packed my knapsack. I purchased some “hunting supplies” from the nearest nocturnal supply store, as well as a cloak, both to shield myself from the chill of night and to remain unseen in it. I crested the hill overlooking the valley soon after the sun did the same. Referencing the map, I scouted the woods for a spot wherein the ridges and creeks of the land would funnel her down a particular path, which at its narrowest spanned no wider than a mouse’s hindquarters. This was the spot I chose to set my foot trap, secured by a chain to the nearest thick tree trunk and hidden with forest refuse. That done, I retreated to higher ground and trained my spyglass on the western ridge. All was still. The sun had climbed higher into the sky when I saw that dot of white fur on the horizon. I lowered, then raised again the glass to spot her movements. She was moving at a steady pace, seemingly aware of her surroundings but not appearing to suspect an attack. I lay prone beneath my cloak until she disappeared beneath the treeline. I waited a little longer before I moved in.

I caught up to her just as she approached the funneled path among the ridges. She was nearly upon the spot when she heard something moving in the woods and turned around, sword paw ready. Her ears stood tall and her eyes scanned the trees. I halted and crouched among the shrubbery. Still wary, she slowly took a step behind herself … and that was when the jaws of the trap snapped about her left foot. She cried out and fell to the forest floor, and for a moment attempted to free herself before she saw me approaching fast.

She drew her sword and swung it in my direction. I jumped back to avoid her first blow, and with her in such a disadvantageous position, I quickly disarmed her with my dagger. Her left paw went for the corresponding holster, but I was ready this time and closed the distance between us before she could line up the barrel. We grappled for the pistol until it expended its shot into the canopy. The pistol in her right holster I was able to grab and toss out of reach before it could be fired. Though she continued to struggle, I flipped her onto her belly and, straddling her back, held her arms behind her. I pulled from my knapsack a rope which I looped several times around her wrists, then tied as securely as I could.

I sat up. She pulled against her binds, but was unable either to throw me off or to free herself. She was helpless. I placed my paws on her shoulders and repositioned myself toward her rear. She gave a panicked cry as my sheath came into contact with her.

Her silky fur felt heavenly as it rubbed against mine. Despite her cries I detected the scent of desire emanating from her, and the excitement on both our parts was nearly overwhelming. I was fully engorged with just a little jabbing, and after teasing her opening a bit with my tip, I plunged within her.

She made herself as flat against the ground as she could, her back arching somewhat, and she kicked and clawed the dirt in anguish. My claws gripped her haunches, perhaps digging slightly into her flesh, but I couldn’t tell—the only thing on my mind was the intoxicating sensation in which I lost myself as I drove myself into her ever faster.

Rabbits, when confronted with danger, fall on one of two instinctual responses. The first is to bolt, to escape the danger to safety as quickly as possible. When that proves impossible, the second instinct is to scream. And when Amber’s renewed efforts to remove me indeed proved useless, she did scream, a piercing, high-pitched screech that rang in my ears and reverberated in the trees. She was given over to terror, her voice growing in sharpness and volume, and yet they were interrupted intermittently with guttural moans of the sensations overtaking her. She grew warmer, and her walls were slickened with both of our fluids. I felt her contract and palpitate around me, and this was when I pressed my full length inside her and released pulse after pulse of flowing seed into her deepest crevasses. There I stayed until every ounce was emitted. I began to go limp, and pulled out leaving a few leaking drops. Then, for the first time since it had all begun, I looked at her.

She was no longer struggling, no longer screaming. She only laid where she was, quietly sobbing into the forest floor, her eyes tightly shut like it would make me disappear—or like she was waiting for the end. Driven, strangely, by an impulse to offer a little comfort, I reached toward her face and, with my thumb, wiped a tear from the eye of this, the one who would soon be Queen of Armello. She drew a sharp breath and recoiled from my touch, but didn’t otherwise move.

I untied the rope from around her wrists. And just as I had appeared from darkness, to darkness I returned.


End file.
